


the big sexy

by deadseasburntoutstars (antigender)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/F, Lesbian Vampires, idk what else 2 tag this :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigender/pseuds/deadseasburntoutstars
Summary: You have not seen Kanaya in some time now. You decide to find out why.





	the big sexy

You have not seen Kanaya in some time now. Just a month (or what you think is a month - it’s hard to tell when you’re on a meteor hurtling through the cold empty depths of space) ago, you hung out. You were in each other’s space so often that if you stumbled it was probably over one of Kanaya’s extremities.

You  _ talked _ .

And now you barely even see her. When you manage to catch a glimpse of her, she is most often brushing past you, nothing more, head down and body language, in a word,  _ cold _ .

You just don’t understand  _ what it was _ that you did wrong. 

To be honest, you’re a bit pissed off. If Kanaya was mad, she should at least tell you why. If it was a more personal matter that was keeping her from you, she should have said something. 

Maybe she just got tired of you! The thought makes all warmth die a cold death in your chest. She should have  _ said something _ .

You just don’t  _ understand _ .

But you are not entirely incompetent in the areas of  _ possibly _ \-  _ might _ \- be-  _ hopefully _ \- romantic- interests. You are not your dear brother. You can  _ communicate _ . 

And communicating is precisely what you intend to do.

You march down the grey hallways connecting Kanaya’s rooms to yours, thoughts in turmoil. Oh yes, you intend to exact some  _ answers _ . Your heels clack a distracted, angry rhythm against the cool stone floors, echoing off of empty walls and curling up in adjacent doorways.

This would be a lot easier if all of you weren’t such spectacular assholes and chosen, in your eternally stunning mental prowess, that the best way for you to live was as far from the only other living beings that were both sentient and didn’t desperately long for your blood and the blood of your entire reality-slash-race in the universe you currently reside in.  _ Good job on the thinking, Rose _ , the echos seem to say.  _ Your truly exquisite judgement calls will surely be noted down in the ancient records of your new universe as totally not bad _ . But that is just your interpretation.

You make your way to Kanaya’s door, findable only because you have made your way to it so many times over the last three or so years it is ingrained in your muscle memory. You could probably find it in your sleep. It is otherwise entirely unremarkable, a slab of slate grey metal affixed to the equally slate grey walls by, and this might be shocking to some, slate grey hinges. You raise your fist, prepared to knock, and momentarily get distracted at the shock of your own brown skin in this sea of sameness. 

And then you shake yourself out of your embarrassing mental lag, bringing your fist down resolutely onto the metal of the door, creating more of an irritating, hollow clang than anything. God, how you  _ miss _ the satisfaction of the sound of a good knock on a proper wooden door -- just one more thing on the incredibly long list of things this game has taken from you, somewhere between the billions if not trillions of lifeforms on Earth and really good chili dogs.

Kanaya, in a move that you probably should have expected, doesn’t answer.

Well then.

You start banging on the door, because you did  _ not _ come all this way to be turned away by something as insignificant as your object of pursuall not answering her door. You channel your inner Dave and knock like you mean it, or, in layman’s terms, like an asshole. You bang out terrible, ear splitting rhythms onto the cold, uncaring metal. You knock like you are attempting to win a gold medal in the olympic sport of door knocking. You trained your whole life for this. You were mocked by your elders, shunned by your peers, but you didn’t care, you trained past the tears, because this was more important than acceptance. It would all be worth it when you were standing at the top of that platform, medal slung proudly around your neck, proud screams in your ears. Anything less than absolute perfection is a failure in your eyes.

Or, at least, it is in the eyes of your metaphor.

But in any case, you knock incredibly loud and annoyingly, and are at last met with victory. Kanaya yanks open her door, catching your fist in her cold, steady grip.

“What,” she snarls.

Wow, holy shit. Kanaya’s bad days make anyone else’s good days look like the inside of a centuries old dumpster that has never been cleaned out but is yet constantly in use, but there is no doubt that this is a  _ bad day _ . She is made up, but it is almost sloppy, a weak imitation of her usual grandeur. Her perfect lipstick is smudged, her eyeliner barely more than smokey, days old wisps across her eyelids. Sweat drips steadily down the bridge of her nose, and the shadows under her eyes are deeper than they should be. Her face is sallow and taunt with stress.

“Kanaya, are you alright?” You blurt out.

“Is that what you came here to say?” She says brusquely, not answering.

“Oh… No. But--!” You try and push the question, but Kanaya doesn’t seem to be in the mood, cutting you off mid-sentence.

“Then say whatever  _ that _ was.” 

Alright. Okay. Back to your original point. You are pissed that she’s been avoiding you, and you are here to procure answers, at whatever the cost. You steel yourself.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you half accuse, half ask. Your voice comes out soft, embarrassingly hurt. You didn’t mean it like that, fuck. 

Kanaya’s sharp eyes soften in response, just a touch.

“Rose…” She says, biting her lip, and then gathers herself back up. She pulls you into her room by her hold on her wrist, strong and tight, on the edge of painful but not quite there yet.  _ Yet _ .

The walls of Kanaya’s room are draped with colorful fabrics, the colors muted in the lowlight that falls over everything in soft waves from the various lamps situated around the room. It is another worrying sign, as her room is usually quite bright. This is the darkest you’ve ever seen it.

Kanaya presses you against the metal of her door, the cold so biting that even through the double layers of your turtleneck and tank top, you shiver. You look up at her questioningly from where she stands, looming over you, so close that you can feel the heat of your skin sinking into hers. For those who are not imaginatively inclined, that is  _ very close _ . You could probably count her eyelashes if you tried. You don’t, because that’s kind of weird, but you  _ could _ .

She leans her head down, nestling into the shelter of your collar bone, which is a tricky bit of maneuvering for one to do when they have horns, but she manages. You can feel her lips brushing against your skin, so gently that her lipstick doesn’t even smear. You shiver again, both from the chill of her skin, where you can feel it over the edge of your turtleneck, and from a heady mixture of touch starvation and lesbianism.

“I’m a rainbow drinker, Rose,” Kanaya says. You gasp. Wait, why did you gasp? You already knew that.

You tell her that.

“I  _ need _ blood. To  _ live _ .” She stresses, and you nod, not sure what she’s getting at.

Kanaya sighs. The gust of her breath hits your neck and sinks in slowly, trailing cold tendrils up to your face. You shut your eyes, ball your fists, and then open them again, blinking slowly.

“I’m  _ thirsty _ , Rose. Gamzee is locked in a fridge. Vriska is… Vriska. Dave and Karkat are too wrapped up in each other to even remember that anyone else exists. Also, gross. The only one who I’ve been able to drink from is Terezi, and I haven’t seen her in a month.” She runs her face up and down your neck, and you break out in a cold, lesbian sweat. 

You grip her gently by the back of the neck, pulling her off of you slowly. Her beautiful eyes are shot through with stressed, exhausted jade, and you heart pangs lowly in sympathy.

“Kanaya,” You say, pushing her sweaty bangs back from her sticky forehead, stroking your hands to either side of her face, holding her there, still but a breath away from yours. A thought away. A kiss. You push that particular avenue of thought to the back of your mind for later perusal. 

“You should have come to  _ me _ ,” You murmur. Kanaya’s eyes, that were so intently watching you, flick embarrassedly to the side. 

You bring one hand away from her face, and her gaze flicks back to you, shadowed, intense.

You’d  _ say _ that she leans in, but that implies a level of cognition and intent that you don’t think really existed at this particular point for her. It’s more, Kanaya  _ drifts _ impossibly closer to you, eyes still fixed on your face, studying you. Your eyelashes brush her perfect cheekbones when you actually remember to blink.

“Kanaya...” you trail off, looking up at her.

She drifts in again, one final time, grasping your face firmly firmly in her cold hands and kissing you firmly on the lips.Your hands grip her wrists, just as desperately if not as strongly, and you kiss her back.

You want to be poetic about it. You want to think back on this moment one day when you’re, well, not old and gray, but  _ older _ , and think,  _ that’s when I knew. That’s when I knew that I would die if she could just kiss me again. That’s when I knew, and I mean really  _ knew _ , that I was in love with Kanaya Maryam _ . 

But the truth is, you don’t think any of those beautiful things worth thinking about. Her kiss doesn’t fill you with starlight, or helium, or lightning, or any of that bullshit that teeny bop softcore porn books will have you believe. The truth is, when Kanaya Maryam kisses you for the first time, you aren’t filled with really anything but an all-encompassing need to be  _ closer, goddamnit _ . 

You’ll have to fill in the poetry later.

You move your hands from Kanaya’s wrists up to her shoulders, digging you short nails into her exposed, delectable flesh, fucking up the straps of her halter top just like she’s fucking up your libido. Her tongue slips into your mouth, squirming between your teeth, tangling with yours, and your head knocks against the metal of her door. 

You suck on her tongue, mildly surprised at how wet it is, how sloppy. A line of drool runs down your chin, smearing on Kanaya’s face, which, if you’d stop to think about it, is pretty gross, but then, you don’t stop to think about it. You can feel her lipstick getting into your mouth, smearing all over your lips, so you’d say that the two of you are pretty even, if you were saying anything at all, because, you know. Tongue. Currently in mouth. And all that jazz. 

Kanaya’s eyes are clenched shut when you glance up at her, brows furrowed with strain and thirst.

Oh shit, yeah. You were so caught up playing tonsil hockey that you forgot that Kanaya was literally starving. In your defense, she was a truly  _ excellent _ kisser.

You pull her off of you by her hair, absently wiping you face with the back of your other hand. You speak no words, but maintain eye contact with her as you pull her back down to your arched, bare throat, stretching the neck of your sweater as you pull that down too, one of the spaghetti straps of your gauzy gold tank top slipping off of your shoulder and getting caught in the curve of your muscle. It irks you, to look so undone, but you endure.

Kanaya’s eyes try valiantly to stay on yours, flicking to your bared throat and back again rapidly. You stutter out a nervous laugh as she starts staring there instead, her mouth slightly open. She moves her hands, stroking the other side of your neck as she lowers her face into your jugular, her other hand clasping inself onto your rib, cupping you just under one of your breasts. You breathe out slowly, closing your eyes again. If you’d known that your vampire friend was going to get handsy while drinking your blood, you might have thought to wear a bra today, but, well, you didn’t. On both counts. 

She bites you, as gently as she possibly could while still drawing blood.You feel it welling up, dripping down a fraction of an inch before Kanaya’s ips reseal over the wound, licking up what blood had escaped and sucking to draw out more. In the back of your mind, you’d thought that maybe it would feel impersonal, clinical, sort of like drawing blood.

You were wrong, though.

Though you hate that Kanaya was suffering, currently  _ is _ suffering, there was a part of you **—** and you don’t know how dominant that part might be **—** glad that Terezi wasn’t here instead of you. The hand basically on you breast slides around you, until it rests on your opposite hip, her arm wrapped around your back snugly. Kanaya pulls you further into her, your back arching into her hunched over form. You shudder. You think of it, of  _ her _ in Kanaya’s arms,  _ her _ head thrown back as  _ she _ strokes Kanaya’s hair, Kanaya’s lips sealed onto  _ her _ neck. Did Kanaya kiss her, kiss her like she did you? You can’t imagine her doing that. Yes, you’re  _ glad _ .

Kanaya gives a particularly hard pull, and you moan. The hand on your neck fumbles its way up to your cheek, patting you, than lands in your hair. She pulls your head back, licking your neck, eyes intent on yours again as you moan in surprise and not an insignificant amount of pleasure. She smiles, and her lips are smeared with a combination of ruined lipstick and your own crimson blood. You tell yourself that it shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. Slowly, so slowly, she pulls her had out of your hair, moving it downwards.

“Kanaya!” You yelp. Her hand is on your thigh, fingertips nestled in the hem of your pencil skirt. Jesus, _ fuck _ .

She pushes her head back against your neck, licking away a stray drop of blood and kissing you before looking back up at you. 

“Rose,” Kanaya says. “Rose,  _ please _ .”

Really, you had no choice. How were you supposed to say no to a woman that begged that prettily? You nod, and Kanaya flashes you a hungry smile, dropping to her knees, drawing the hand on your hip up and around you until it really is on your breast this time, one thumb stroking your nipple through your shirts.

Kanaya slings one of your legs over her shoulder, heedless to the noises you make, and there are  _ noises _ . She rests her face against your stomach, stilling for a moment.

Then she moves down.

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually a reupload. i took this down after i realized that i am, in fact, a dude, and so didn't feel amazing at the prospect of writing a second chapter of lesbians having sex. after further consideration, i think that this chapter stands alone, and theres no use in just letting in languish in my google doc. if you enjoyed it comment yeehaw. if you didnt enjoy it read something else.


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